We should always remember to celebrate – remember to mark our birthdays, promotions, anniversaries, betrothals, weddings, festivals, graduations. Celebrations should usually be planned, but are occasionally better if impromptu. There are big events, and intimate soirées. As I get older I realise life is short and it is easy to forget to commemorate the highlights. The drudgery of everyday grind can blot out the achievements, and smother progress.
Stopping to enjoy the moment can be a challenge. As Stanley Bing, witty observer of the executive suite, says: “Businesspeople are like sharks . . . because we must move forward or die.” Ambition is not controlled by turning a switch off and on again. It is a roaring furnace that heats up over a long time, and cools very slowly – perhaps never to be reignited. Celebrations can smack of complacency, laziness, extravagance and self-indulgence. If they cost vast sums, then perhaps such condemnations are appropriate. But all the costly glitter is irrelevant: what matters is who turns up to a social gathering. The attendees make the evening.
Arguably, I have been in the celebration business for the whole of my working life. I started hosting parties at the age of 18 and have not stopped. I must have held at least 50 over the decades. I love every part of it: choosing the location (ideally somewhere new); picking the date (I prefer weekdays); drawing up the guest list (always ask some different faces to spark new friendships); designing the invitation; and of course enjoying the occasion itself. One’s own parties are always a blur of greetings, snatched conversations and farewells, yet also a brilliant way of making serendipitous introductions and keeping in touch. I only need a modest excuse to throw a party – a book launch, a restaurant opening, a farewell. Even wakes can be magnificent.